


Love, Aliens and Other Good Things

by rhythmicsunrise



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Peter Parker, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, My First Fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Wade Wilson, Rating May Change, The X-Files References, except some of them do have powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicsunrise/pseuds/rhythmicsunrise
Summary: “What do you know about Agent Wade Wilson?”A visual pops into his head immediately. Big muscles, extensive scars and mystery. The man was truly an enigma; Peter hadn’t met a single person that called him a friend. Of course, with a reputation like Wilson’s, no one would be quick to claim him as one. Wade Wilson was decidedly…. odd.Personally, Peter had never spoken to him, and he didn’t much care for gossip. However, stories like Wilson’s managed to find you no matter how you avoided them.--aka the x-files au no one asked for!





	1. Spooky Wilson

**Author's Note:**

> hi there, i'm sunny and this is my first (posted) fanfiction. honestly, i don't know how long this will be, or if i can even commit to it. this is NOT beta read, so any mistakes are my own, so if you see something totally let me know. i would really appreciate feedback! 
> 
> also! i am NOT a medical doctor, an FBI agent or a chemist. suspend your disbelief and pretend i know what i'm talking about. this came about from me binging the x-files and realizing that these two fit perfectly (with some adjustments). i hope you like it! 
> 
> obviously, these are not my characters. do people still even do those disclaimers?

In all of his nearly three years working for the Bureau, Peter had never been called into Director Fury’s office. Until today, that is. He’d heard horror stories about this very room; hidden behind the plain wooden door was some sort of awful dungeon, where disapproval and possible probation ran rampant. Many a badge had been revoked in this very room, many a dream had been crushed. At least, that’s what the stories said. 

_Come on, Parker,_ he encouraged himself, _Just open the door._

When he does, he finds that the room isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Muted beige walls, a fern in the corner, a desk in the center of the room. The desk holds no personal effects, simply a lamp, a pencil cup, an ashtray and a plaque reading “Director Nicholas Fury”. Sure enough, behind the desk sat that very man. 

Fury’s face was stern (Peter had never seen him smile—he doubted the man ever did), but not angry. His one visible eye wasn’t glaring, simply observing him. Perhaps Peter would make it out of here with his badge after all. 

Peter opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to ask what he had done, but Fury cuts him off. “Thank you for joining us, Agent Parker. Or do you prefer doctor?”

“Either is fine,” Peter says, still unsure of the director’s motives. Peter’s eyes trace the room once more, and he is only slightly surprised to see Agent Coulson standing in the opposite corner like a shadow. The guy was always right beside Fury—that is, if he wasn’t fawning over Captain Rogers. Peter had spoken to him more often than he’d even _seen_ the director. Coulson was a nice guy, if not a little strange. Peter sits in the seat facing Fury’s desk, sighing. “Director, if I may-”

“We have an assignment for you, Parker.” Peter’s mouth closes so fast that his teeth clack together audibly. Whether the director heard it or not, he paid it no heed. Plowing on, Fury asks, “What do you know about Agent Wade Wilson?”

A visual pops into his head immediately. Big muscles, extensive scars and mystery. The man was truly an enigma; Peter hadn’t met a single person that called him a friend. Of course, with a reputation like Wilson’s, no one would be quick to claim him as one. Wade Wilson was decidedly…. odd. 

Personally, Peter had never spoken to him, and he didn’t much care for gossip. However, stories like Wilson’s managed to find you no matter how you avoided them. 

“Wilson spent his late teens and early twenties in the military. He was honorably discharged after an explosion that left him disfigured, now he’s a competent agent, one of the best in his class. A Yale educated psychologist, who helped put serial killer Cletus Kassady behind bars a few years ago. Generally thought of as one of the best behavioral analysts in violent crimes. However, he… has a bit of a reputation. In the academy, they called him Spooky Wilson.” Peter’s eyes flick over to Coulson, his lips quirking in a grin. The other agent didn’t seem to find it funny. Fair enough.

“Surely, then, you know what he’s been working on recently?” Fury continues, face as steely as ever. Peter sobers quickly, his smile falling away as he nods. As far as he knew, Wilson had always had an interest in the unexplainable. However, after his success with Kasady, he’d pulled away from violent crime altogether, holing himself up in the basement to work on… whatever it was that he was working on.

“I hear his interests have become more eccentric over the years.” A puff of air through Coulson’s nose draws Peter’s attention. It’s as if he’s saying _‘Yeah, no shit.’_ He can’t help but grin at the man. “With all due respect sir,” Peter begins, looking back to Fury, “What does this have to do with me?”

“Wilson has taken on a project known as the X-Files. I’m sure you’re familiar.” As if they were in the goddamn 70’s, Fury reaches into his desk, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, fire alarm be damned. Peter thinks he hears Coulson cracking a window, but he doesn’t take his attention away from the man in front of him. 

Fury takes a drag from the cigarette, not even bothering to blow it away from Peter’s face. He tries his best not to be affected, but he’s sure his nose scrunches in disgust just a bit. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Agent, but you were trained as a medical doctor, were you not? With a PhD in biochemistry and a Master’s in Anthropology?”

Peter nods, “Yes, sir, but-”

“Why aren’t you practicing medicine, Agent Parker? Surely you’re qualified enough, and yet you’re here instead. Why?” Fury’s one uncovered eye bored into him. What the hell was going on here? First bringing up Wilson of all people, and now interrogating him? What was Fury’s game?

Though a bit taken aback, Peter recovers quickly, explaining, “I was recruited out of medical school just before graduating. I figured I could use my knowledge for the greater good. Saving people, not just on the operating table, but in person." Fury continues to stare at him silently, as if waiting for him to elaborate. Peter sighs, looking away, "My, uh… my uncle was killed by a mugger when I was a teenager. I kept thinking, if only someone had been there, if only I had been there, maybe…” Peter trails off, shaking his head, “But I still don’t see what Agent Wilson has to do with any of this.” 

If such a stoic man could look pleased, perhaps Fury would. He leans back in his seat, his shoulders relaxing ever-so-slightly. The sight was not comforting. “I’d like to assign you to work with Agent Wilson. His methods are rather… unorthodox, and I’m hoping that an agent like you could help keep him in line.”

“Sir, are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? Do you want me to stop him from investigating these X-Files?” Peter frowned in confusion. Why would Wilson’s eccentricity be a concern for them? It didn’t seem like he was hurting anyone with his proclivities. And of all people, why Peter? 

“Not exactly. Parker, I want you to be his partner. Work with him side by side, get a… scientist’s point of view on his ‘unexplainable phenomena.’” The sight of Nick Fury using air quotes in real life brought a snort out of Peter, which he respectfully (unsuccessfully) tried to stifle. This actually did earn him a glare from the director. 

“Okay. You want me to debunk these phenomena.” Peter said, bluntly. He never imagined Nick Fury as someone who could talk himself in circles so much.

“In essence, yes. You will go on cases with him, and write us a field report after every one. Anything suspicious going on, anything against code, I want you to tell me.” Fury smushes the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes returning to his paperwork. “You’re dismissed, Agent. “

As Peter went back to his desk, he couldn’t help but wonder what working with Spooky Wilson would be like. Well, he thought, at least it won’t be boring.

\--

The next morning found Peter in the elevator, heading down to the basement. He’d been to the basement a few times in his career, usually to look for files or to get fresh paper for the copier. Peter did not care much for the basement. 

The elevator dings, creaking to a stop, and he steps out. Spooky doesn’t even begin to describe it. Of course, Peter doesn’t believe in ghouls or ghosts, he knows that he’s completely safe down here. However, the flickering fluorescent light on the ceiling and the lone open door at the end of the long hallway put him on edge. 

The door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, a warm yellow light pouring out into the dimly lit corridor. Peter’s footsteps echoed in the concrete room, giving him away. Wilson should be expecting him anyway, right? Fury told him that Peter was coming... right? Oh god, what if he surprises Spooky Wilson? How would the other man even react, was he _dangerous,_ Peter didn't even bring a gun- _Breathe, Parker. He's just a guy. A weird guy, sure. But still just a guy._

His steps slow to a stop as he reaches the door. Poking his head in, Peter can’t help but survey the room. There are posters on the walls, photos of UFOs and blurry stills of what he supposes is Bigfoot. The desk is messy, as well as the shelves stacked with boxes and files. Sure, Peter’s own station wasn’t spotless, but how could Wilson even work like this? Shaking his head as if to rid himself of any judgments, he raps his knuckle on the door. 

“Nobody here but America’s Most Unwanted. Canada’s too.” Wilson doesn’t even look up, but his voice is smooth and even. He doesn’t sound surprised about his visitor.

Peter steps into the room, closing the door behind him before he makes his way over to Wilson’s desk. Finally, the other agent turns to look at him, and Peter is almost shocked at how.. Normal he looks. Round glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, and blue eyes stare up at Peter inquisitively. The scars, Peter knows, extend down his left side, covering most of his body. The left side of his head is hairless, but instead of it being strange looking or ugly (like the Human Resources assholes say), it looks cool. Like an undercut. His cheekbones are high, and on the unscarred half of his face he has a few freckles, and--

_Peter!_ He scolds himself, _Focus!_

“Hello, Agent Wilson, I’m Peter Parker-” 

“Trust me, I know who you are, pretty boy.” Usually, Peter’s pretty good at schooling his expression, at not being affected. This, however, makes his eyes widen and his cheeks flush. What the fuck? Wilson continues, “Peter Parker, Violent Crimes fresh meat. You received a scholarship for MIT Engineering, but you decided to go to Empire State University instead. Qualified medical practitioner, PhD in biochemistry and a minor in physics. ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox, a New Interpretation by Peter Parker.’” Wilson looks almost proud of himself, holding up a copy of Peter’s senior thesis. “Fury sent you here to spy on me. Can’t let the Bureau’s very own crazy go off on his own.” 

“Sounds like you studied.” Peter huffs, shaking his head. 

"Of course I did, doctor! Gotta know what I'm up against. Though, that cute blush on your cheeks leads me to believe you'd be a shit spy. So why did they send you?" Wade looks him up and down, and the attention makes Peter squirm under his skin. He does his best to be professional, but damn it, Wilson is making it hard!

“Wilson, I’m not here to spy on you, I’m here to aid in your investigations. I want to solve these cases,” he points to the disheveled cabinets and shelves, “just as much as you do.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, tell me what you think of this, Doc.” Wilson stands and walks a few feet away, turning on an old-school projector. On the wall, flickering with the weak bulb in the decrepit machine, is a structural formula for some chemical. “Do you recognize this?” 

Peter squints at the formula, noting the presence of carbon. But if this was an organic compound, surely he would have seen it before? “It’s organic, I can tell you that. It’s got to be synthetic, right?” 

Wilson laughs, switching out that slide for another. A body appears on the wall, contorted and sick-looking. Definitely dead. There is no blood on or around her, and her face looks sunken in. Starvation, maybe? “No idea. The sample was taken from this unidentified body. Her autopsy was inconclusive. I think she was a part of New York’s homeless population, no one has come forward to claim her, no dental records, nothing. Organs atrophied, and an unknown chemical substance coating the inside of the body cavity.”

Peter stares at the woman for a moment longer, before turning back to Wilson. “And I suppose you believe this is the work of extraterrestrials? As opposed to starvation? Exposure? It gets cold in New York, I’m sure you know. ” 

The other agent barks a laugh, “You’re a firecracker, I like you.” Peter rolls his eyes. Putting on a more serious face, Wilson continues. “Her stomach was full when she was found. Full of what looked to be like raw rabbit. What’s up, Doc?” Wilson’s Bugs Bunny impression is god awful. Noted. 

“People die of mysterious causes all the time, it doesn't mean all of them were killed by Slimer. There is an explanation for this, we just don't know it. Just because it’s nothing we’ve seen before, doesn’t mean it’s the doing of some…” He pauses, searching for the right words, “phantasmal force.”

“Was that a Dungeons and Dragons reference?” Of course, Wilson didn't even mention the Ghostbusters reference. 

Ignoring him, Peter continues. “Is this the case you’re on now? I’d like to see the files so I can read up on it myself if you don’t mind.” 

At this, Wade grimaces. “No, I’m not actively working this case. Local police don’t want me poking around. Which normally wouldn’t deter me, but with the threat of Mad-Eye Moody up there taking my badge, I had to put it on hold. I’m still looking into it. When they need me, and they will, I’ll be heading to New York City.” 

“We’ll be heading to New York City, you mean.” Wilson’s grin is wide and childlike at this. The sight should make him nervous, perhaps. It doesn’t.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Now, about that DnD thing…” Wilson inches closer to him.

Peter sighs. _Yep,_ he thinks, _definitely not boring._ “Why don’t you tell me about the case you’re on now instead?” He walks himself over to the desk, taking a seat on the table while Wilson reclaims his spot in the chair. 

Wade takes off the glasses, folding them in the collar of his shirt. He rifles around all of the shit on his desk— _is that Taco Bell trash?_ —before pulling up a manila folder with a flourish. Wilson opens the folder, revealing the case file. A handsome man stares up at him unblinkingly from the paper. 

As if he has the details of the case memorized, Wilson, without taking his eyes off of Peter's face, recites, “Rural Missouri, Peter Quill, 30 years old, military turned astronaut. Retired from NASA three months ago after what he claims was an alien attack. He says an alien woman saved him from some unknown force on the satellite. On Monday, his neighbors’ trees were singed down to the stump during the night. Quill’s gone.”

Peter can’t help but guffaw. “An alien woman? If aliens exist, and I say if very lightly, why would they have the same gender constructs as we do on earth? It seems statistically impossible. You can’t take this guy seriously. Not to mention the stress isolation can put on someone's mind. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd just lost his mind up in space."

“Whether its the truth or not, he’s really missing. Police have never seen anything like it, they’re begging for FBI assistance.” Peter hadn’t imagined Wilson to be a diplomat. “Plus, Missouri has fucking killer barbecue.” 

Peter shakes his head, sighing. “Alright then. To Missouri we go.”

Wilson squeals in excitement. Peter ignores him.

As Wilson prattles on about travel plans— _"Should we take a plane? Or drive? Oooh, roadtrips are great for bonding. But bad for the environment, maybe we should take a Greyhound? Yeah, you're right, let's just take the plane."_ —Peter can't help but think... how was this bubbly, excitable, _funny_ man the 'Spooky Wilson' that everyone talks about? 

Stories had led Peter to believe that the man was rude, unsightly. That he pushed his belief of the supernatural down everyone's throats. 

He supposed he'd have to come to his own conclusions about Agent Wade Wilson.


	2. Case #1: Peter Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disappearance of Peter Quill was a mystery. Burnt trees, flashing lights, scared locals and everything. All Peter Parker wants is to find a logical explanation for this. But you can't always get what you want.
> 
> Also known as 'The One Where Peter Learns Too Many Lessons'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a while. my motivation for writing is hit or miss, so im sorry for anyone who was looking forward to an update sooner! i'll try to be better about it. hope you guys like case-solving, because i just wrote 11 pages of it.

Wade Wilson was an enigma. Wade Wilson was an oddball. Wade Wilson was spooky. 

Peter had heard a lot of things about Wade Wilson in his time working for the Bureau. Many of these things he'd found, so far, to be true. However, the rumors and whispers from his peers could never have prepared Peter for this fact;

Wade Wilson _snored_.

Hell if Peter wasn't forever indebted to Nick Fury for lending them a jet; he would have gone mad on the 15 hour drive to Missouri. The sound emanating from Wade Wilson's nostrils was something out of a horror movie, a growling beast that was certainly scarier than any X-File. Peter's cheap headphones could only block it out so much. 

When the pilot announced their arrival at the airport, he could have cried. 

He stood, walking over to the uncomfortable-looking seat that Wilson had splayed himself over, his limbs going every which way. Peter leaned in, laying a gentle hand on the sleeping man's shoulder, shaking him. "Agent Wilson. It's time to go." No response. Peter shook him harder. "Wilson! We have to get off the plane before it takes off with us still in it." 

Finally, the older agent sleepily grumbled, "Madonna, is that you?" 

"Yes, Wilson. And I've made up my mind, I'm keeping the baby." At this, one blue eye opened up to look at Peter. 

"Knew I picked you for a reason, sweet cheeks. So sexy when you quote Madonna. I'll give you a baby any d-"

"You didn't pick me, I was assigned to you," Peter interrupted him, folding his arms over his chest.

"Semantics," Wilson waved a hand dismissively, stretching and yawning. He looked down at his wrist. “Ah, right on time.” There was no watch there. Peter didn’t even bother to comment. 

“Come on, Wilson. Grab your stuff. We’ve still got a two hour drive ahead of us,” Peter, having already gathered his bags, walked himself off the plane without looking back. Hopefully the idea of being left behind would get Wilson’s ass into gear.

Unfortunately, Peter learned another lesson about Wilson in the ten minutes it took the other man to appear from inside the jet; he was never on time. His fingers clenched to stave off the intense urge to punch Wade Wilson in his ridiculous face. _Come on, Peter. You’re a professional. Can’t let this guy get to you,_ he thought miserably. 

Their rented car was waiting in front of the airport, and Wade was in the driver’s seat before Peter could even consider arguing. It was a nice car, nothing too new or fancy, but it was sturdy and reliable. Surely, it wasn’t one that prompted doing donuts in the parking lot. 

Lesson number 3; Wade Wilson was a crazy fucking driver. Peter was just about done with learning things about this man for today. 

“Wilson. The local police are expecting us in a few hours, could we please try to be on time?” Peter’s voice was muffled as he hid his face in his hands in exasperation. 

“Right, of course,” the fake-professional voice Wilson put on grated even further on Peter’s nerves. _I’m a professional, I’m a professional, I’m a-_ “Next stop, the sticks! Man, couldn’t Quill have lived somewhere with more fun shit to do? How am I supposed to impress the sweet little thing in my passenger seat with-”

“Wilson,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Wade took a second to shoot him a dramatic, scandalized look, but he started driving. That was a win in Peter’s book. 

\--

Aunt May loved Shania Twain. Peter had grown up listening to her in the house while they cooked together, and in the car when she drove him to school. The feeling of nostalgia that bubbled up in him at the sound of her music always made him smile. 

Trust Wade Wilson to ruin that, too. 

Turned out, he loved Shania Twain as well. A lot. When they finally pulled into the police station parking lot, Wilson was on his _fifth_ acapella rendition of ‘I Feel Like a Woman.’ If Peter never had to hear the song again, he’d die a happy man. 

He was slamming his door shut before Wade even cut the engine, stomping over to the front door to collect himself. The police here needed them, he had to have all his focus on this case. 

“You ready, Petey?” A voice next to him made him jump, and he turned to glare at Wilson. With a curt nod, he pushed the door open, leading the two of them inside. 

The receptionist was relatively old, about May’s age if he had to guess, and was so sugary sweet that all of Peter’s annoyance melted away in an instant. “What can I do for you handsome young men today?”

To his surprise, Wilson spoke up first. And he wasn’t his usual, joking self. He looked serious, his sharp features pulled into a look of determination that made Peter’s head spin. How was it even possible that someone could do such a complete 180 in a matter of seconds? Even his tone sounded different when he said, “We’re here to look into the disappearance of Peter Quill. We had an appointment with the sheriff, ma’am.”

Peter could only nod along, still slightly in shock. 

The woman’s eyes lit up in interest. Peter could tell in an instant that this lady loved to gossip, he had seen enough of it in Aunt May’s tea party friends. “Peter Quill. Such a sweet boy he was, I used to babysit him, you know? Ah, but I was only 20 back then. How fast the years go. Have you boys heard anything? About Peter? Oh, I do hope he’s alright. I know he’d been a bit… off, since he came home.”

“Off? Can you describe how he was acting?” Peter inquired. They had been briefed on the situation of course, but a third party’s observation could be useful. 

The woman, Gertie, her name tag read, leaned in close to them, dropping her voice as if she were telling the juiciest secret to her gossip crew. “I heard he was runnin’ around talking about… aliens. A lady alien, from what I’ve been told,” her voice lowered even more, she leaned just a bit closer, “Neighbors called in a disturbance from his home the day before he went missing. Heard him screamin’ ‘bout how he had to get back to her, that she was in danger. He lives alone, so no one knows who he was talking to, but if you had to ask me-”

“That’s enough, Gertie.” A pleasant-looking plump man stepped out of a door behind the desk, grinning at Peter and Wade, “No use fillin’ their heads with nonsense.” 

Gertie, affronted, sat back in her seat with a pout. 

“Sheriff,” Peter began, offering him a short smile. “Agents Parker and Wilson, we’re here to help you with the Quill investigation.”

“Yes, yes, please come back to my office so we can talk,” the sheriff shot his receptionist a look, and Peter’s brows furrowed. 

They went behind the desk, towards the office. Before Peter could join Wade at the door, however, a soft and gently wrinkled hand found his wrist, gripping tightly. Peter looked at Gertie, shocked, and when she tugged him down to her level he went easily. 

The once joyful, smiling woman had turned serious, the frown-lines on her face deepening as she stared Peter in his eyes. “Agent Parker, listen here. Peter Quill ain’t crazy. Weird things have been happening ‘round here lately, things that the sheriff won’t admit. Please, find that boy.” 

“Hey. You coming?” Peter tore his gaze from Gertie’s toward Wilson, who was eyeing him curiously, still holding the door open for him. With one last glance in the woman’s direction, he pulled his wrist free to follow after the other two men. Once they fell into step next to each other in the surprisingly long hall, Wade ducked his head down to murmur into his ear, “Whatever she said, I trust her more than I trust him.” 

Peter’s eyes found the sheriff’s back as the man fumbled to unlock the door at the end of the hallway. A sickening feeling rolled in his gut, but he hid it behind a soft snort. “I thought you trusted no one.” 

There was no way in hell he was meeting that intense gaze that Wade was throwing his way. He could feel his cheek burning with the weight of it. Peter kept his eyes forward. 

“Ah, stupid lock,” the sheriff grumbled below his breath, finally getting the door open. The office in front of them was quaint, a wooden desk with folders strewn about it, a family portrait of the sheriff and his wife and kids--though if the sheriff’s weight was anything to go by, the picture was old. “Please, gentlemen, take a seat.” 

The couch squeaks under their combined weight, but Peter pays it no mind, too busy taking in their surroundings. A few childrens’ drawings were stuck to the corkboard on the far side of the room, and Peter narrowed his eyes. He peered at the sheriff’s hand. No ring, and no tan line around his finger that would suggest he’d worn one at all recently. 

“Sorry about Gertie up there, she’s a good worker but she really is a horrible gossip,” he laughs, his jolly belly shaking with the action, “Let’s get down to business, then. These are all the files I have on Peter Quill,” the sheriff pushed a few manilla folders to them, “It’s really not much. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything too big to worry about. Probably just eloped with his mystery girl.”

“His… _green_ mystery girl?” Wade said, the skepticism heavy in his voice. Peter flicked through the files. The information was surface-level, a google search of the man probably could have provided more. A small scrap of paper attached to the staple holding the bundle of papers together caught his interest. Something had been torn out. Wilson and the sheriff chattered back and forth while Peter flicked through the papers, eyes focused and scanning every detail.

“Peter always did have an active imagination. My wife was his teacher in school, you know? Brilliant kid, always a bit off his rocker,” These words from the sheriff caught Peter’s attention. He looked up from the files, brows furrowed.

“Your wife?” Peter asked. “You aren’t wearing a ring.”

The man looked almost frightened for a split second, before he laughed heartily. “I always forget, you FBI types are too observant. I take it off at work, so I don’t lose it or get it dirty.” 

“A page of this has been torn out. Why?” Peter held up the stack of stapled papers.

“One of the pages didn’t print quite right, this old printer is about as useless as this investigation. Quill is an adult, if he wants to run off with his lover, that’s his business.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Peter stared him down, watching the man comically gulp under his gaze, “Even if he did just elope, until we find him we intend to treat this case like he is missing and needs help. So please, suspend your disbelief. It is only hindering our case.”

Sheepishly, the sheriff looked down at his hands. “Of course, I apologize. I just need you boys to understand, nothing bad ever happens here. The last time there was a robbery in this town, my father was still the sheriff and I wasn’t even close to being born.”

“I understand that you want to find a logical explanation for everything that has happened. Trust me, I want that too. But you have to admit, the stories coming from this case are anything but logical, and what I’ve heard so far suggests that Peter Quill could be in danger.” Peter turned his attention back to the files. He flipped through a few more pages, before his eyes catch something. “Sheriff. It says here that one of your officers saw someone in Quill’s home a few nights ago?”

“Yeah, no, he didn’t see anyone. He went out there to check out the burnt trees. My boys are pretty spooked by all this, you know. The kid’s name is Thompson, he’s a rookie. He thought he saw someone through a window, but even he admits it was a trick of the light. Thunderstorms have been quite the bitch recently. Lightning makes some weird shadows.”

Wade looked down at his wrist, standing up from his seat, “Well, would you look at that. We have an interview scheduled with his neighbor in twenty, we should get going.” He still wasn’t wearing a watch. If the sheriff noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“Do you mind if I keep these?” Peter waved the folders at him, eyes unblinking and serious. The man shook his head. “Thank you for your time, sheriff.” 

With a nod, Peter followed Wade out, the two of them walking down the hallway in silence. When they reached the lobby again, Peter crouched down next to Gertie. 

“The sheriff’s children. How old are they?” He questioned, looking at her seriously.

“The youngest just graduated from college. Why do you ask?” 

Peter only nodded, stalking out of the building without looking back. It only takes a second for Wade to join him in the car, and it takes less than a second for him to start talking once he sat. “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours, Peter?”

“I think you’re right. I think he’s hiding something. The way the room was set up, its like…” Peter huffed, “It sounds stupid, but I think he was trying to make us believe he was living this idyllic life. That nothing bad ever happens here. Nothing like divorce, or your kids leaving you. Gertie said his kids were grown, but the only evidence of them was as children. It’s probably nothing, I just… I have a feeling.”

“No ring,” Wade breathed, and Peter looks up to meet his gaze. Their eye contact was intense, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to break it. 

“And he never introduced himself. Didn’t have a name plaque or anything. Doesn’t that seem… strange?” Peter asked, emboldened by Wade’s positive reaction. 

“Welcome to the X-files, Peter.” Wade put the car in reverse and they peeled out of the parking lot. 

\--

“There was this-this flash of light! And then loud noises, like crackling and breaking wood. When I looked outside, my tree, my favorite oak was in pieces over the street! Smoldering. I saw that a branch had landed on Peter’s roof, so once the rain stopped I went to check on him. But-but… he didn’t answer! And now he’s gone!” Peter set his hand on Amanda’s knee, comforting the frightened neighbor. 

“I know it’s frightening, okay? You’re worried for your friend, it’s alright. But I need you to think. It was storming, you said? This flash of light, could it have been lightning?” He asked.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down. “I…. I guess, I.. it could have been? I don’t remember hearing any thunder.”

“When was the last time you saw Peter?” Wade asked, tipping his head to the side.

“The day before. I brought him some lasagna, I knew he was struggling. I offered to talk, but he wasn’t interested. He took the lasagna and shut the door in my face.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Amanda. We’re doing everything we can, and every little bit helps. If you can think of anything else, please, call me,” Peter pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, scribbling his number down on it and handing it to the girl. “If we find anything, we’ll be in touch, okay?” 

She sniffled, nodding in agreement and clutching the paper in her hand like a lifeline. 

Back in the car, Wade turned to him. “You asked her if it was lightning. Why? I thought you agreed that the sheriff was full of shit, and now you’re pulling his rhetoric on our witness?” It was strange, the words he was saying seemed angry, but Wade looked more… curious.

Peter looked up from his phone, rolling his eyes. “How would letting her believe it was aliens help our cause at all? Lets say, for instance, you’re absolutely, 100% right. Peter Quill fell in love with a hot green alien lady and she stole him away to live happily ever after on Tatooine. Case closed. We’re never going to find him.” Peter sighed, exhausted as he kicked his feet up on the dash. Thankfully, their next stop was their motel room a city away. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re sexy when you reference Star Wars?” Peter’s glare only makes Wade giggle. “We’re gonna find Quill, Peter-pie. Aliens or not.”

Peter huffed, looking out the window. It was getting dark, and if he wasn’t so distracted by the case he might stop to think that the rolling hills and green trees dripping with the light rain were beautiful. He was a Queens boy at heart, but even he could admit that concrete couldn’t compare to the beauty of nature. 

He was lost in his thoughts when radio static burst into his attention. Confused, he looked at the radio and watched in awe as the stations changed rapidly. “Wade? What’s going on?” Suddenly, a flash of lightning had him squeezing his eyes shut in surprise. The engine of the car thunked and sputtered as the vehicle came to a gentle stop. When Peter opened his eyes again, the rain was coming down harder than before, and the radio was back to normal. 

“Peter…” he heard Wade say from his left. When Peter turned to look at him, his face was full of wonder. “Peter, what time is it?” 

“What? I don’t know, we left Amanda’s at 8 and we’ve been on the road for almost a half hour or so… 8:25, give or take.” Wade simply pointed at the dashboard of the car, and when Peter followed his finger, the clock read… 

8:50.

“No. The car’s clock must be wrong. I remember, I sent a text to my aunt when we left Amanda’s. It was 8. The motel wasn’t even 50 minutes away. The clock is wrong.” 

Wade picked up his phone, something that Peter hadn’t seen him interact with all that much. He unlocked it, and sure enough, in front of the Lisa Frank unicorn lock screen was the time. 8:51. Peter pulled out his own phone, and he when he unlocked it he let his breath out in a surprised whoosh. Sure enough, 8:51.

“We lost 25 minutes,” Wade said. And then again, louder this time, “We lost 25 minutes!” With an excited whoop, Wade burst out from the car and into the rain, the heavy downpour soaking him almost instantly. 

“Wa- Wilson!” Peter shouted, but the other man paid him no mind. He was too busy laughing into the rain like a madman. For the first time since they met, a ripple of unease ran through Peter’s body. He stepped out of the car himself, walking over to Wilson and grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“I was wrong! I’ve been wrong before, especially about the time. I was wrong, Wilson,” Peter felt like he was pleading with the man, trying to get him to settle down.

Wade sobered after a few more wheezing guffaws. “Peter--”

Peter jumped about a mile in the air as the car’s engine rumbled to life again behind them, the headlights suddenly drowning them in bright fluorescent blue. His jaw dropped as he tried to find the words to voice how fucking confused he was. When he looked back at Wade, for answers, maybe even for comfort, he found the man walking back to the car. 

“Come on, Parker. You gonna stand out there all night?”

Peter shook his hair out uselessly. He had so many questions, so much to say, too many thoughts in his head to even breathe let alone speak and--

The horn honked. “Pete. Get in.” 

Peter listened. 

\--

By the time Peter woke up come morning, the bed that Wade had slept in was suspiciously empty. The motel they were staying in was cheap, the bedding smelled like mothballs and the ceiling showed signs of water damage. But somehow, it was one of the best night’s sleep Peter had ever gotten. 

He got up, rubbing his eyes blearily, and when he opened the bathroom door, it took him too long to process exactly what it was that he was seeing. 

Wade Wilson stood in that cheap motel bathroom, under the jarring yellow light, stark naked and beautiful. Where he wasn’t scarred, his skin was smooth and soft looking. Most of his body was covered in the scars, though, the ones that Peter had so far only seen on his face and his arm. The man was unbelievably fit for an FBI agent that spent most of his time holed away in Quantico’s basement. Muscles bulged under his skin that somehow Peter hadn’t noticed until now, having been hidden by slightly baggy clothing. 

Peter’s eyes shifted lower, and lower, and lower, until… “You need something, pumpkin?” Wade drawled, raising a naked eyebrow.

“Fuck, sorry!” Peter slammed the door closed, the sound of Wade’s melodious laughter chasing him out into the bedroom. 

His cheeks were still bright red when Wade came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. “Hot water in the shower is hit or miss, if you want to try it. I would have invited you to share mine, but you looked so pretty sleeping I couldn’t even dream of waking you.”

Wade’s laughter as Peter flung a pillow at his face was infuriating. 

After Peter’s shower, the two of them went off in search of some breakfast. They found a cute little mom and pop restaurant that was bustling with small town families. Peter imagined this place didn’t see too many outsiders, as most of the customers stared at them curiously as he and Wade walked to a booth. 

Peter buried his sorrow in a plate of pancakes, hoping that maple syrup could somehow make him forget Wade’s body, glistening with water from his shower and-- _goddamnit_ , no. 

“Peter,” fuck, why did Wade’s voice have to sound so nice saying his name?

“What?”

“Peter,” Wade stated again. 

“Yes, Wilson, I’m listening.”

“No. _Peter_.” Wade pointed somewhere behind him, and confused, Peter slowly turned around to see what on Earth he was supposed to be looking at.

There was a man standing at the entrance of the restaurant. He was filthy, his hair a matted mess and his clothes stained and torn. 

“Oh my God. _Peter_.” Peter breathed in wonder, nearly falling out of his chair in his haste to get to the man. “Peter! Peter, my name is Agent Parker. We’ve been looking for you. Come sit down, please.”

He lead Quill to their booth, ordering him his own stack of pancakes. “Where have you been? What happened to you?” 

“I…. I don’t know.” Quill breathed out, his eyes watering as he stared down at his plate.

\--

“He doesn’t remember anything?” Peter asked, looking at the doctor in dismay. 

“As far as I can tell, no. He looks like he’s been through a lot, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had stress-related amnesia.” 

“Fuck,” he murmured, “thank you, doctor.” 

Other than the shoddy memory, Peter Quill was in perfect health. After all of the grime had been cleaned off of him he looked completely normal, as if he had never been missing in the first place. There was a suspicious bruise on his neck, but that could have come from anything. Peter couldn't stand to look at him anymore, so he turned tail and didn't look back. 

When he joined Wade in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, he let himself be angry, just for a second. “Fuck, _fuck_ …” He squeezed the arm of the chair, clenching his eyes shut so tight that it hurt. 

“Hot when you curse.” Wilson said softly, reaching over to pat him on the back. 

“After all this, he just… we found him, but we’ll never know what happened. The case is closed, but it’s so… unsatisfying,” Peter opened his eyes to look at Wilson, shaking his head and sighing deeply. “This is stupid. I should be happy he’s alive, but--”

“You want answers. That’s not stupid, Peter. A lot of X-files have shitty endings, there’s some things I’ll never know for sure and it fucking sucks. But this guy, he’s okay. He made it. Some of them don’t. This was a success, Peter.”

He nodded. “I want to see the sheriff. One more time. He knows something. Can we go?”

Wade was pulling him out of his seat in an instant. 

They drove to the police station in silence, and it was probably the longest Wade had been quiet around him without being unconscious. It was a comfortable silence, at least, as comfortable as it could be with Peter seething in the passenger seat.

“Wade, is that… smoke?” Peter pointed up into the sky when they were a few blocks away, the trees finally parting enough to reveal a thick, ugly plume of grey in the otherwise blue sky. 

“No. No, fuck, no,” Wade floored it, probably going about 20 over the speed limit until they reached their destination. 

There were firetrucks all around, spraying at the smoldering remains of the police station. 

“Goddamnit!” Peter cried, stomping on the ground almost like a petulant child. He trudged to one of the first responders, grabbing him by the arm, “What happened here? Where is the sheriff?”

The man shook him off before sighing. “We always told him not to smoke in that building. Reckon he left a cigarette in the trash and the whole place went up.” He nodded over to where two covered stretchers were being placed into ambulances. “They didn’t make it out.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, and when he looked back to find Wade, the man was already stalking back to the car. He jogged after the man, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. “Wade, no. We have to- we’ve gotta- _no_ \--”

“It’s over, Parker. Let’s go home.”

Peter Parker was good at his job. Every case he’d ever been a part of had ended neatly, wrapped up tight with a little bow on top. Even the ones that ended badly, he at least knew why, knew what happened, if he could have prevented it. 

It was something he needed to learn about the X-files; to prepare for disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't be mad at me! i promise at least some of these cases are gonna end all nice and pretty. please, feel free to leave feedback. reading the comments on the last chapter really motivated me to pick this project up again! love u

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this is about 2400 words, let me know if that's too short, or if you would like to see longer chapters! i could have kept going, but i kind of want to gauge the interest first. thank you for reading!


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